


Accidental Discorporation

by HopeCoppice



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Accidental Death, Accidental discorporation, Angst, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Specifically Aziraphale accidentally discorporates Crowley, Stabbing, canon-typical relationship ambiguity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:01:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28835988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeCoppice/pseuds/HopeCoppice
Summary: It's not the first time they've been seen in public together. It's not the first time they've staged a fight to fool their respective sides.But on this occasion, it goes wrong.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 46





	Accidental Discorporation

**Author's Note:**

> This is rated out of an abundance of caution, I don't know if it's actually that graphic but I'd rather warn too much than too little.  
> Angsty little thing, I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> TW: stabbing, death.

It’s not the first time they’ve been seen in public together.

It’s not the first time they’ve been seen together _by_ _ Heaven,  _ or even the first time they’ve been seen together by Heaven  _ in Wessex. _ Aziraphale is often here, of course, as one of King Arthur’s knights, and Crowley seems to be around more often than not for his own nefarious reasons. Heaven drop by whenever they like, and sometimes that means they chance upon Aziraphale and Crowley deep in conversation in the middle of the marketplace, just like today.

“Angels, coming up behind you,” Crowley warns in a low voice, “let’s go.”

“You stand in defiance of God, foul fiend,” Aziraphale bellows in response, and Crowley flinches most convincingly. “Now flee, or be destroyed by my hand.”

“Yeah? You want a fight? Bring it on,” Crowley taunts, and reaches over a market stall to pick up a knife - a normal, human knife, that will do no damage whatsoever to Aziraphale’s essence if it happens to touch him. Aziraphale lunges at the nearest stall and comes up with a similar weapon. Then he lunges again, this time at Crowley.

It’s not the first time they’ve fought, either; whenever one of their sides catches them in conversation, they have a bit of a fight for show, and then whoever is outnumbered flees, leaving the other party to look fierce and dedicated in front of their colleagues or bosses. They’ve done it on several occasions, now, because actually discorporating one another tends to lead to a rather boring and lonely existence for the surviving party, to say nothing of the paperwork involved for both sides.

So it’s rather like a well-rehearsed dance as Crowley darts away from the knife Aziraphale’s holding and spins around as if to slash at his throat; Aziraphale is already ducking and the knife passes cleanly over his head. They take a few steps away from Gabriel and Sandalphon and repeat the process, this time with Crowley lunging first and Aziraphale dodging.

“Best not draw it out in case they decide to get involved,” Aziraphale warns under his breath, and Crowley nods.

“Better chase me, then, make it look good.” Then he raises his voice. “Argh, you’re too strong!”

Crowley turns and runs, and Aziraphale charges after him in pursuit, startled shoppers leaping aside in all directions as they race through the crowd. Everything is going exactly according to plan; Crowley needs only to reach a secluded alleyway and he can sink into the ground, reporting an increased angelic presence on Earth only to be ignored and sent back up in a couple of days or weeks. They’ve done this countless times, and they’ve got it down to a fine art, now. The plan is flawless.

Crowley stumbles to a halt, all of a sudden, and Aziraphale’s momentum carries him onward. There is a terrible gasp, and the barest hint of resistance against his blade, and the world seems to stop.

“Oh, that’s what we want to see, Aziraphale. Well done!” He should answer them, should turn to look over his shoulder at the very least, but he can’t draw his gaze away from the dark bloodstain spreading across Crowley’s charcoal-grey tunic. He senses the drop in divinity in the area as the other angels return to Heaven, but he can’t seem to process anything except the way Crowley is pushing a little child away from himself, sending him off into the crowd to find his mother.  _ He didn’t want to trample the boy,  _ Aziraphale realises, his heart beating a hollow rhythm in his chest,  _ that’s why he stopped. _

Crowley turns more fully towards Aziraphale and drops to his knees, shaking.

“Angel-?” Aziraphale is at his side before he can even finish getting the word out, dropping the bloodied knife and pressing his hand to the wound. He can’t use divine healing on Crowley; it might destroy him entirely. Besides, Heaven would know _who_ he was healing, and they wouldn’t like it at all.

“I’m here, Crowley. I’m sorry. I-”

“Too fast for me,” Crowley tells him, with a weak attempt at a smile, “don’t worry about it. Happens. ‘Sides, it’s your job.”

“But you- you’re discorporating-”

“Happens. My fault,” Crowley insists. “Stay with me?”

“Of course I’ll-”

“Just… just ‘til I’m gone.” Those golden eyes are struggling to stay open, Aziraphale can see it, and Crowley slumps heavily against him. Aziraphale wraps his arms around the demon and holds him tight. “If you like…”

“Sorry?”

“Stay… only if… you like,” Crowley wheezes, and Aziraphale runs a hand gently through his hair.

“Of course I’ll stay,” he assures him, “it’s all right. You’ll get a new body, and you’ll be back in no time to wind me up.” Crowley twists his face into a grimace that Aziraphale thinks is meant to be a smile, but they both know that a return from discorporation is never certain. Nothing is guaranteed. “I don’t expect stabbing you to bring me a moment’s peace and quiet, there’s no stopping you from getting under my feet and making trouble. A knife is hardly going to cut it.”

“Cut  _ me _ ,” Crowley points out, his breathing horribly shallow, and Aziraphale squeezes his eyes shut to hold back the tears that threaten. They aren’t  _ friends, _ they can’t be  _ friends _ , but they’ve been on earth together for so long that Aziraphale feels incomplete when Crowley’s not around. And now he’s discorporated him, and Crowley is in pain, and it’s all Aziraphale’s fault. He doesn't know what he'll do with himself, not without Crowley.

“I need you,” he whispers, in case he never gets a chance to say it, but there’s no response.

He opens his eyes to find that Crowley is gone, his corporation slumped lifelessly against Aziraphale’s shoulder, yellow-gold eyes still half-open. Aziraphale closes them gently and lifts the body into his arms, striding from the marketplace as if he’s carrying a precious jewel and not the empty corporation of his sworn enemy. The crowds part around him, letting him go; nobody knows what to make of the fight and its ending, but they’re in no hurry to get into an argument with a murderer.

Aziraphale carries Crowley out into the countryside, walks and walks until he finds an enormous apple tree. Then he digs a grave beneath its branches and lays Crowley to rest, presses his hands into the dirt and urges flowers to grow over his body. It’s foolish, he knows; Crowley is not there. Crowley will be back, and he won’t even wonder what happened to his body. But it feels right.

He doesn't let himself cry.

* * *

Crowley doesn’t return from Hell for what feels like a very long five centuries, and when Aziraphale finally catches up with him he looks tired and pale. For a new corporation, it certainly looks as though it’s seen better days.

“Crowley. You’re back.”  _ I’ve missed you, _ he doesn’t say, because he can’t.

“Yeah. Queue for new corporations is a mile long, and I mean that literally. Had to take a number. Hastur got six new bodies in the time it took me to get this one, because of course he did.”

“Six? Good lord, what does he do with them? I’ve never-”

“No, you won’t have, he doesn’t come up here much. Every time he does, though, he explodes into maggots on the way out.” Crowley sighs. “Doesn’t matter. Here now. Was there something you wanted?”

What Aziraphale  _ wants  _ is to apologise, to beg Crowley’s forgiveness and assure him that it will never happen again, that Aziraphale will never let himself be so careless again. But those are promises he can’t keep, and apologising for discorporating a demon is dangerously close to betraying God Herself. He doesn’t want to Fall, he  _ can’t  _ Fall just because he feels bad about hurting Crowley. But he really, truly, doesn’t want to have to hurt him again.

“I wanted to- well.” He hesitates. “I wondered if you could tell me more about that idea you had. An Arrangement, you said?”

And Crowley smiles, a sincere and painless smile, and Aziraphale knows they’re going to be all right.


End file.
